My wolf nears the surface as my instincts become more animalistic, and my senses sharpen. I refuse to let my body shift, it silently obeying through the blinding rage. I can't see anything: my vision is blurred with red. After stuffing my emotions into the deepest, most fathomable depths of my soul, they had finally surfaced in one final push to keep my alive.
I swipe with my sword across Damien's mid-section, but he's just fast enough to dodge out of the way before I can get close to ripping his flesh. I try and strike, him again but he ducks under my blade and swiftly springs on his heel to grab my wrist as I bring it backwards.
Using his toned body and boundless strength, Damien naturally flings me over his shoulder as if I weighed no more than a sheet of paper.
I feel my bones rattle as my body makes contact with the ground, vibrating like an electrified wire in an alternating magnetic field. My body feels electric with pain, each movement as I force myself into a crawling position sending a jolting lightning strike through my nerves.
Completely and utterly winded, I stagger maladroitly to my feet, mouth open like a fish out of water as I try and intake oxygen. I had felt like this many times throughout my previous fights, but none had left me feeling like a deflated balloon.
I had lost my sword in the process, and as Damien allowed me to teeter to a standing position, I saw that it was too far away for me to currently access. I would have to fight my way to it, and that included going through Damien.
Damien's sword was close to my own, and I knew that all I had to do was get to them before he did, and then this crappy contest would be over.
I feel a drop of blood slowly trickle from my nose, and tentatively wipe it away. All the while, Damien stares at me as if I had come from a different planet. Was he surprised that I wasn't giving up? Because if he thought that I was, then he had clearly been bashed in the head too hard as a baby.
I lurch forwards, swinging my fist and hoping that it connects with his perfect jawline. I feel the air rush out of the way of my charging hand as it whistles forwards.
Damien's hand reaches up to block my punch, and the other one manages to hit me in the stomach. I feel myself reel backwards to try and get away from his next punch, but it lands directly in my stomach once more.
A gurgle emerges from my throat as I cough up blood, spraying it in his face. Dazed, Damien blinks for a second, and I take to opportunity to tackle him to the floor, pinning his hands by his sides with my legs.
He looks up at me with his huge, mysterious eyes. Even now, in amidst the torment of the battle, I could see the strange gold flecks that reminded me of my mother's hair. But as I looked further than the metallic flusters, I could spot something else hidden deep within the iris. Fear. It was too well concealed to know whether it was genuine, but the look on his face of defeat was enough to give away the fact that Damien's defeat was not a mirage.
Damien's chest rises as he tries and pushes me from his body, but I use all my strength and will to keep him contained. I wasn't the heaviest werewolf, but with my extra muscle mass, I weighed more than I perhaps presumed.
As I gaze at Damien, a flood of memories swell in my brain, threatening to make it explode. All I can picture is the sword slicing straight through Noah's figure, and his body going still as he was flung to the ground like a worthless rag. Damien hadn't killed Noah, but he had been there. He was the Alpha who had led the massacre on my friends and adopted family. And I would never forgive him.
A bubble furiously rises in my chest like an eruption of magma, and I feel my limbs consumed once again by rage which I cannot control. As I force Damien to lay still on the ground, I am powerless as my fists ram into his face, punch after punch.
I don't know how long I'm there for, but by the time I'm done my fists are raw and blistered. At some point, tears had formed in my eyes, and I had almost cried. My vision is a haze of water, trapped in Damien's cryptic stare.
He's still conscious, but barely. As I deliver my final punch after realising that I have done enough damage, his head lulls to the side like a baby in his sleep.
Confident that he was practically unconscious, I withdraw myself from my victim. You would have thought that I would feel something like guilt or sympathy, but all that's left of my heart is a black hole. My heart was stolen when my parents died, and that abyss only grew when Noah was slain before my very eyes.
My steps are fragile as I move to pick up the two fallen blades, collecting one in each hand. They feel like poison in my grip and that it's slowly corroding my flesh away from my bone.
I was never raised to be a murderer, but here I was. The events of my life had rounded the edges of my personality, and sharpened me. I was the finished the product, and I was not proud of it. I was a monster. I killed. Maybe I should be labelled as a rogue. I murder. I kill. I'm no different to a true rogue.
But more importantly, I don't deserve to live. Damien does.
I can feel the eyes of the audience trailing my every move, observing what I was going to do next. I almost laughed: wasn't it obvious? This was a fight to the death, and with Damien barely conscious on the ground, he was an easy target.
My opponent has since woken up dazed, but his movements are laboured and slow. He gradually gets up onto his knees, but I use most of my remaining strength to push him back so that he is kneeling before me.
His eyes are startled as I place both swords in the shape of a cross at his throat. All I had to do was move my arms away from my body to decapitate the handsome young man before me.
Damien looks as though he has a tear in his eye, but his sturdy face shows no sign of weakness. Even in death, he was a warrior as any other werewolf should be.
Damien shrugs his shoulders, despite the swords resting on them. "What are you waiting for?" His expression is solemn, pleading me to get the job over and done with. "Just get it over with."
But I can't kill him. Even if he had been at the scene where Noah died, he still hadn't killed my ex-best friend. He had also tried to kill me, be he hadn't. There was nothing he had done to make him deserve such a horrific – yet heroic – death.
I look away, biting my lip nervously. Tears threated to sprout from my eyes, my body overwhelmed with a foreign emotion I can't quite figure out.
I couldn't kill him.
I look back at Damien, his face still as bold as it had previously been. "Take care of them, Aurora," he nods to the people surrounding him. "They deserve a strong leader, and you are that leader."
I inhale sharply because the words flowing from his mouth are lies. I wasn't strong enough to lead a whole city. It would break me from the inside out. I was free, and I always would be. Keeping me cooped up in a castle would deteriorate me.
I shake my head, stepping back slowly as I withdraw the swords from Damien's neck. I chuck one to the side, and then one in front of Damien so that he could get it more easily.
Damien gives me a shocked look, but I ignore it. He wanted to be king, and this was his opportunity.
"I'm not," I state quietly. I feel my legs give way, and fall to my knees. I couldn't rule, and maybe death wasn't as bad as I had thought. I had come all this way to escape demise, but I would never be able to escape fate. I had run from it long enough. Now it was time to turn and face my demons.
Kneeling before Damien, he stands up and gathers the sword the King gave me, shaking his head slightly to try and rid his dizziness. I look up at him with huge, wide eyes, hoping that he would get this over with quickly.
"Aurora!" A familiar desperately calls out from the spectators, but I ignore the frantic shout. I hope that Josh would be able to accept my sacrifice. If he only knew what I had witnessed in my life. Maybe then he would understand.
Damien places the sword across my neck. He knows that he hasn't won the crown rightfully, but he still acts like the cocky bastard he is. I have sacrificed myself to let him live, and every part of my brain still believe that he will kill me. It was the rules, but I thought that he m
ight spare my life. He had done it before, and maybe, just maybe, he would do it now.
"Give me one reason why I should let you live," Damien's face is blank as he speaks.
What kind of question was that? Was he actually thinking about letting me live? I was a rogue, and any other competitor with any sense would've plunged the sword through my heart moments ago.
I feel my lip tremble as the sword pushes closer to my windpipe. It's only then that I realise that I didn't want to die. Dying now was a coward's way out, and Aurora Thompson was not a coward.
I blink rapidly. "That's the problem. I can't."
Damien sighs, weighing up his options. The blade presses ever closer to my windpipe, threatening to slice the skin. Less air reaches my lungs, and my body takes quicker breaths as I begin to hyperventilate, both in fear and in oxygen deprivation.
Damien glances around the stadium and the silent faces. Every single member of the crowd is on their feet, anxiously watching to see who would be crowned king or queen. The man then snaps his regard to me, the powerless girl knelt before him.
We stay there for what seems like centuries, but within one blink, he turns away and chucks his sword to the other side of the arena. He pants heavily with anger, his body moving up and down with every breath. It was clear to see how hard it was for him to let me live.
I kneel there, shocked. Amongst the sand and the concrete, I sit on my legs, completely and utterly stunned as if I had witnessed the death of my mother all over again.
He turns back to me, fuming, his eyes infiltrated by a beautiful silver tint. "I have one condition if I let you live," he spits furiously, unleashing his inner beast from within.
"Name it."
Damien lets out a tiny growl as he slowly loses control to his wolf. "That you, Aurora Thompson, will be my Second in Command."
9 | War
❝For every king that died, they would crown another.❞
If there's one piece of advice I would give about coronations, it's that you shouldn't go to one: they're as boring as a blank piece of pristine white paper. And the fact that Damien smirked at me for most of the ceremony did not add to the effect. About ten minutes into the service, I had already began to regret my decision not to kill him.
The only upside of the whole ceremony was the traditional party held afterwards: whenever a new King or Queen was crowned, all of the alphas were invited to a special after party to, well, get wasted.
"What're you thinking about?" Josh asks as he comes to stand beside me on the balcony. He looked handsome in his human-style suit and tie, the navy fabric making his youthful eyes seem brighter.
I, on the other hand, had stayed in my fighting gear, with the addition of the second in command's cape draped over my shoulder. The red velvet material complimenting my bland pigmented tresses. My sword was skill firmly sheathed in my belt, despite the formal event. I was not going to dress in a fancy dress for a party I didn't even want to attend.
I don't even hesitate to tell him the truth. After the whole Alpha Trials ordeal, I feel a though I've known Josh for my whole life. "How much of a dick Damien is," I reply in my usual, blunt tone. It's no wonder why I don't have more friends.
Josh snorts before I continue. "What? He was smirking at me throughout the whole coronation."
Josh shakes his head, taking a sip of beer from his cup. Unlike other werewolves who drank champagne at the royal event, Josh had opted for beer. "Anyone would've smirked."
"Are you actually standing up for Damien?" I question in disbelief, a note of laughter carried in my voice.
Josh rolls his eyes slowly as he places his hands on the balcony, clasping his fingers together. He arches his back, leaning down as his gaze drifts over the celebrating city. The courtyard below was bustling with werewolves, flame torches painting scarlet in the pitch black curtain of the sky. Happy cheers reverberated from the chasm, creating a peaceful and safe atmosphere as I wondered what awaited us outside the city walls in the morning.
What were the rogues planning? Were they going to try and kill Damien now that he was king? He might be an arsehole, but he didn't deserve to get savagely destroyed by a mindless rogue. Nobody did, unless they were Titus.
"Aurora, he is our king," Josh sighed, a white cloud of exasperated water vapour appearing before him.
"So what? Does that mean that he's suddenly a better person?" I enquire as I stand up straighter, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest. Josh shoots me a disapproving look.
The teenager shakes his head. "No, but he's our king."
"I'm aware of that. I didn't sit through a two-hour service for nothing," I state, the bitterly cold air seeping into my veins. I'm glad that I didn't wear a dress: I would've frozen to death.
Josh shakes his head as he lets out a small chuckle. To be honest, he was probably regretting the decision he made to befriend me. But I hope he wasn't. Without him or Azra's support, God only knew where I would be at this chapter in my life.
Josh leans back from the balcony, the warmth of his presence slowly fading like the sun dipping behind the mountains at dusk. "They just brought out dessert. You coming?"
Dessert? Food that wasn't meat or salmon, which I had been living off in the wild? After a life of savoury dishes and rough meals, I think eating sweet food wouldn't settle in my stomach too well.
I wave a hand at Josh. "I'm good."
"Suit yourself," he sighs, fiddling with the cufflinks on his suit. I hear the faint grumble of Josh's stomach before he begins to saunter away from the marble ledge, leaving me isolated from everyone else in a ten-meter radius.
Finally alone, I am able to pull in a deep breath, filling my lungs to the point where I think that they're going to explode. I then exasperate all the air, returning to my steady breathing pattern.
Then, I tilt my head towards the sky. It was clouded over, the overcast water vapour parading above my head, mocking my existence. But after a few seconds, I noticed a tiny hole tear in the dense cloud, the bright luminescence shining through the gap like a lifeline. I wonder whether my parents are up there, among of the stars. Of course, the truth is determined as to whether heaven exists or not, but a small part of my shadowed soul hopes that they can see me now. That, as they gaze down from the inky canvas, they are proud of me and what I have been able to achieve. Probably not, given the amount of blood on my hands, but I still hope that they watch over me. Then at least I wouldn't truly be alone.
Wrapped tightly in my thoughts like a sticky cobweb, I shake my head to try and clear my mind. They weren't coming back. Nobody from my past life was. Noah, my parents - even Titus - were all gone, lost within the void of demise.
In fact, I had been so caught up in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed the steady breathing behind me. Each inhalation causes a whistling noise as the male stands behind me. I can't see his face, but I have a good idea who it is. "Isn't it a bit cold to be daydreaming?"
I spin on my heel to come face to face with Damien. His face is so close to mine that I am forced to let out a distressed squeal. Anger builds in my throat: why was he here? What the hell did he want with me?
"No," I reply bluntly, turning back to view below me so I don't have to look at his face, handsome as it was. The only person I wanted to have a conversation with was Josh, and he was currently stuffing himself with cheesecake or some sweet delicacy. Or even Azra, but she was inside, avoiding the cold.
Damien comes to stand beside me, our upper arms touching for a second. I don't feel anything except for the soft fabric of my jacket over my skin, but his presence is too close for my comfort.
Damien waits for a few minutes, studying the same pinpricks of light I had been gazing at earlier. Then he opens his mouth to speak, his deep voice compelling me to listen. "Would you care for a dance?" He asks.
I whip my head around in confusion, confronting the king once more. "Are you being serious?" I chastise, my eyebrows scrunching together to form delicate folds of skin above my brown orbs.
THE ROGUE WOLF Page 10